Bosom Of Self

From the bosom of Self I catch continually a scent of the Beloved;
How should I not, every night, take Self to my bosom?
Yestereve I was in Love's garden, this desire came into my head;
His sun peeped forth from mine eye, the riser of tears began to flow.
Each laughing rose that springs from ins laughing lip
Had escaped the thorn of being, had avoided Dhu'lfiqar.
Every tree and blade of grass was dancing in the meadow,
But in the view of the vulgar they were bound and at rest.
Suddenly on one side our Cypress appeared,
So that the garden became senseless and the plane clapped its hands.
A face like fire, wine like fire, Love afire-all three delectable;
The soul, by reason of the mingled fires, was wailing 'Where shall I flee?'
In the world of Divine Unity is no room for Number,
But Number necessarily exists in the world of Five and Four.
You may count a hundred thousand sweet apples in your hand;
If you wish to make One, crush them all together.
Behold, without regarding the letters, what is this language in the heart.
Pureness of colour is a quality derived from the Source of Action.
Shamsi Tabriz is seated in royal state, and before him
My rhymes are ranked like willing servants.

Selected Poems from the Divani Shamsi Tabriz Edited and Translated by R. A. Nicholson